Within the Darkness, Among the Shadows
by applefladapple
Summary: Vayne will make him suffer for his crimes. But Talon suffers already. Perhaps she is not here to hurt. Perhaps she was fated to help him. Perhaps they are both fated to save the world. Because someone has to, once the Ruined King returns. And the only way is to stand together, whether it tears them apart or not. M-explicit swearing and violence. Characters belong to Riot Games.
1. Chapter 1

**Prologue: Reawakening**

* * *

 **A/N: Just before we start- to all my old (and new, i guess) 'ficfans,' i know it's been ages. I apologise. Unfortunately for the people who wanted to see my old story continued... uh... it's not going to be. Or, at least, not for a very, _very_ long time. This new story is going to be an... upgrade of the old, i guess you can call it.**

 **And now, to everyone: Welcome! To this fanfic! Don't expect a new chapter any more than once a month. I hope I don't decide this one is crap and abandon this one too, lol. Oh yeah, and please leave reviews so that I don't feel rejected... All that besides... enjoy!  
**

 **bbye  
**

 **[P.S: Can somebody talented (Talon-ted) with a lot of time to waste please draw some coverart? Because I can't draw, and apparently nobody on the internet has ever thought of VayneXTalon. I really don't care how bad it is, as long as it is clear that there is Vayne, and there is Talon. If nobody does it, i'll have to, and you guys don't want to see that. Send me a PM if you got something. THANKS]**

* * *

 _Before_

* * *

All was silent in the dark mansion. It was far past midnight, and most slept soundly. Only one little girl remained awake, her keen eyes picking shapes out of the darkness as she listened to the sound of silence ringing in her ears. Her covers were twisted around her legs, testament to the stifling heat that kept her awake. The girl sighed, and shifted onto her side, trying to get as comfortable as possible so she could finally have the sweet release of sleep. Outside, the full moon glowed dully through a choking sky of dark clouds, like it was being smothered by them. Crickets began to chirp, a night-time bird howling its grief into the uncaring night, into the mind of the sleepy girl. She curled up, tucking her knees tightly under her chin as her eyelids began to close, and her breathing slowed, until she lost consciousness.

A muffled sound woke the girl. Blearily, her eyes opened for a second, before she closed them again, snuggling deeper into her covers. It came again, an out-of-place, unnatural sound, and she knew she had not imagined it. Warily, she sat up, swinging her legs out of bed, ignoring her body's tired protests. It was storming outside, the wind roaring its fury as it screamed through the trees, the raindrops battering the roof wrathfully. One hand scrabbled at her bedside table for the light switch. A tap, tap, tap came at the window, and the girl froze. Her mind began conjuring all kinds of terrors that could be hiding in the darkness, a long, pale hand, reaching for her... _Where is the light switch?_

Finally, her fingers closed around the switch, and the room lit up in blazing light, chasing back the shadows. She grabbed her glasses and slipped them on, bringing out her slightly messy room in sharp detail. The girl breathed a sigh of relief as she saw the branch that had been lightly rapping on her window. No murderers here.

Of course, she was wrong.

The girl bent over, reaching for a book she had carelessly tossed by her bed. She felt restless now; no use trying to sleep again, even if her tutors would reprimand her heavily tomorrow. Her messy black hair fell over her eyes, obscuring her vision as she groped around the floor for the book.

After a few excessive seconds fumbling around, the girl finally managed to grab the book. She sat back up, tossing her hair out of her face with a huff of annoyance. She rolled backwards onto her stomach, opening the book at the folded page. She put a hand under her chin, then began to read in the dim light.

Scarcely two pages in, the girl heard a scream.

She scrambled upright, her heart pounding in her mouth. After a few seconds straining her ears in the stillness, she gently put one foot down, praying that the floorboards wouldn't creak. Thankfully, it made no sound, so she silently stood up and began to creep slowly towards the source of the noise, leaving the book open on her pillow. Step by cautious step, she crept towards the doorway. Where had that scream come from? Her parents' room? She didn't want to think about what would be waiting for her when she arrived.

She reached the gaping doorway. The door was already wide open, the shadows beyond lurking like a living thing. Cautiously, she poked her head out into the hallway. Darkness both ways.

Here, the girl hesitated. The scream sounded like it had come from the right side of the house. Go to her parents, where a murderer might be prowling? Or go to the left, where she could sneak out the front door, maybe get help from the guards that patrolled the house. The option her parents would want her to take.

Taking a deep breath, the girl stepped out into the hallway. Turning to the right, she began to sneak towards her parents' room. Through the veil of darkness, she could barely see the trophies adorning the wall, glaring down at her as if it were her fault they were up there. One moose in particular glowered especially vindictively at her. Suppressing a shudder, she crept past them. _Only a little further…_

The girl stopped, reaching upwards. Standing on the tips of her toes, she was just able to reach her father's huge wooden hunting crossbow, which was hung proudly on the wall above a quiver of bolts. Slowly, making as little noise as possible, she lowered it carefully onto the floorboards. She grabbed the soft leather quiver tightly in one hand, making sure the bolts didn't rattle. She removed the bolts carefully, shoving them into her pocket less so.

The girl knelt next to the crossbow, resisting the temptation to hurry. In her hand, she held a single bolt, which she proceeded to load into the crossbow. Her father had taught her this the previous season on one of their rare outings together; spring, when buck ran rampant through the woods down the street. He had also taught her to shoot- an activity in which she had no lack of skill. She remembered her father's pride as she landed her very first shot, ruffling her hair as he beamed. _"Straight through the eye,"_ he had boomed. _"Good girl."_

The girl felt herself smile distantly, even as the bolt made a satisfying click as it was loaded into the barrel of the crossbow. Snapping out of her dream, she stood, hefting the crossbow in her grip, before creeping the few remaining feet to her parents' room.

The door was ajar. She nudged it open with her toe, wincing as it emitted a small creak. She stepped through the doorway, and lightning flashed ominously as she entered.

The lightning lit up a scene straight from a nightmare.

At first glance, it appeared that everything was the same. The numerous trinkets and books lay on their shelves, the titles barely visible in the moonlight. The wooden floorboards, polished as usual, still had their sheen to them. The bed was still…

 _The bed._

There was blood splattered across the previously pristine white sheets.

Her father lay in the middle of all the chaos, strangely tranquil in the maelstrom. His bearded face was a mask of peace, even as a dark stain tainted the twisted sheets he lay in. Her mother, however, lay slumped against the far wall, her bare body wrenched violently to one side. Her throat was slit from ear to ear, a bright red smile that did not match the expression of pure terror on her face.

A dark kaleidoscope of roiling emotions struck the girl as she took in the once-grand room, a mixture of fear, despair, and panic, the expressions flickering across her face involuntarily. The crossbow almost clattered from her grip. She felt numb as she squeezed her eyes shut, drawing in a deep breath. She almost threw up as the coppery stench of blood entered her nose, filthy and brutal.

A hastily stifled gasp opened her eyes.

Her blank gaze met the shocked face of… a boy. He must have been about her age, shock of brown hair obscuring his eyes. His damp cloak was evidently purple, even under the layers of mud and blood, and was tipped with blades. In his hand, he held a long, sharp dagger that glinted in the dim moonlight. It appeared he had just walked out of the bathroom, water trickling down his arms and dripping off the edge of the blade.

 _Washing off the blood._

As she pointed the tip of the crossbow at him, the boy froze. Even if she had been terrible with her aim, she wouldn't miss at point blank range. His eyes were fixed on the bolt, nestled in the groove of the barrel.

One twitch of her finger, and his life would ebb away, as her parents' had only a few moments ago.

The boy seemed to realise this, as he shifted uncomfortably, the hair moving out of his face. As he did so, she caught his stare. He had deep, clever brown eyes, swirling depths, dark beautiful gemstones that glittered like the blade in his hand. The eyes of a murderer.

As their eyes met, the girl felt another feeling, rising up and surpassing the others, taking control. It burned, white hot, searing away the tears, the terror, the emotions, until all that was left was an endless churning. This new feeling urged her to pull the trigger. _He deserves it, doesn't he?_

A small part of the old girl still remained, rapidly shrinking. This part felt the wrongness radiating from this new feeling. But it was powerless to do a thing as the burning swallowed it completely.

The girl was gone.

The Night Hunter stood in her place. Her face was blank as she aimed the crossbow at his heart. It had to be perfect. Time seemed to slow as she closed one eye and peered down the barrel of the crossbow. The churning was urging her to shoot, clamouring for blood. She felt her heartbeat pounding in rhythm with the raindrops.

Yes, it would have its blood.

Her finger tightened on the trigger.

And then he moved.

* * *

The boy walked with his head down, hood up, hands buried in his pockets. It was late at night, the pale full moon glaring abnormally luminously down at the colourful crowd below. The friendly bustle and clattering that surrounded him in the marketplace did not reflect his black mood. He had been traversing the continent for the past week, barely stopping except to restock on supplies, and he still felt his limbs throbbing from the repetitive trudging they had been put through.

The shouts of hawkers calling their wares passed over him as the various smells invaded his keen senses. The bitter smells of exhaust smoke from the factories nearby mixed with the sour smell of badly-cooked pumpkin pie, one particular delicacy of the festival he did not care to try. The boy turned his head to the distant factory chimneys, pouring out smoke into the once pure night air. This part of Demacia did not reflect the same shining spires of the Lightshield Palace that it was so well-known for.

He muttered a meaningless apology as he bumped roughly into a finely-dressed merchant. The merchant sniffed haughtily, turning his back to the boy, who clenched a fist as he thought savage thoughts.

 _'You ought to bash that stuck-up shit's face in,'_ a dark voice growled harshly from the back of his mind, _'Just keeping punching and punching and punching until it caves in and the blood sprays out and his face isn't a face-'_

The boy shut out these thoughts with a practiced exhale, and the tension drained out of him. He wouldn't-couldn't- let these thoughts dictate his actions. It was these impulsive thoughts that screwed up a mission, that got you killed in the middle of action. One slip- and you were gone for good. Instead, he settled for a quick two-fingered salute in the direction of the retreating merchant. _Faggot._

He managed to evade running into any more of the crowd, and eventually made it out of the throng with a sigh of relief. It was Patriot's Day- a celebration these Demacians valued very highly- and the timing could not have been worse. He let his thoughts wander to his new boss, the mysterious Marcus DuCouteau. Why had he decided to plan the mission for this exact day, of all others? Was this some kind of test? All Runeterra to the stars above knew it would be swarming with people. Tourists, loyal Demacian nobles, even simple peasants taking advantage of the holiday would all be crowding every marketplace. All increasing his risk of being found and apprehended as a Noxian spy. Right now, that risk was so high, the chances of being discovered were practically non-existent. _For any ordinary assassin, anyway…_

 _Maybe I should conduct a little research of my own,_ he mused to himself. From an early age, the boy had learned that everyone, no matter who, had their secrets. The pastor was an alcoholic. The shopkeeper was a gambler. Every man had his demons. _I wonder what he's hiding…?_

The boy turned around the corner, away from the bright and cheery celebrations, and into a small and gloomy lane. Here, the tall buildings hid him from the moon's sleepy vision, basking him in the grateful embrace of the shadows. Almost unconsciously, he melted into the darkness like a ghost, his thoughts of Marcus DuCouteau still bouncing around his head.

These thoughts vanished like a fleeting shadow as he came to the foot of a hill, a winding path carving its way through the dark grass like a scar. At the top of the hill, a dark, towering mansion stood theatrically against the dark and cloudy sky. Around the base, guards patrolled back and forth like loyal ants, their rifles held ready in their hands. The boy took note of all these factors, his keen eyes never missing any detail, even in the clouded moonlight.

 _Isolated house on high ground, with a clearing of one hundred metres on all sides. Highly guarded. Windows only on the second floor. If this isn't a test, I don't know what is._ The edge of his mouth curled up into a supercilious smirk. _Challenge accepted._

Crouching low, the boy snuck over to the jagged locked gate that marked the edge of enemy territory. He pressed his back to the cold steel, the coarse rust prodding into him like the tip of a dagger. The grass by the gate beyond was long, long enough to reach over his head if he crawled. However, this would sacrifice his speed for stealth, and he would be at higher risk of discovery if one of the guards happened to look over and see the grass mysteriously parting. No, he had to do this in a vastly different fashion. A much more violent fashion, albeit far riskier. Not that it mattered to him.

Taking a dagger from the depths of his cloak, he quickly scanned it for the priming switch on the hilt. He glanced carefully around, before priming it, then turning and launching it high into the air. He watched as it arced through the night sky, the weighted blade glistening in the moonlight as it began to plummet, tip first, towards the ground. In his hand, he now held a small, glistening black controller, with just a single button.

The dagger hit the ground, scarcely five metres away from the nearest pair of guards. From where he was standing, he heard nothing, but the boy knew the guards had heard the audible _thud_ from where they stood. Their heads snapped around, and the two nearest of the ten started slowly towards it, scanning the grass for movement with their half-raised rifles. _Closer…_

The boy waited until they were almost standing on it, until he could wait no longer. His thumb pressed down. The dagger exploded, sending tiny razors of metal shrapnel towards the guards. The shrapnel burrowed into them, penetrating vitals as the tiny shards killed them instantly. They dropped without a sound, collapsing in the long grass as the others rushed towards them. Seizing his chance, the boy quickly scaled the fence, dropping onto his belly in the long grass. Then, he lay still as he planned his next move.

 _I'm about ten metres from the house. The guards are about twenty metres away, maybe they won't spot me if I make a dash towards the house…_

The boy peeked over the edge of the swaying grass. Five of the guards had made a ring, watching for any further threats, inside which the other three knelt beside their fallen comrades.

 _They're standing all bunched up in a group… maybe I should use another explosive?_ Almost immediately, he realized the flaw in this plan, banishing the thought from his mind. _No… I can't risk waking anyone inside. If the first one hasn't done so already, the second surely will. Looks like I'll have to do this the hard way…_

Rising to his knees, he mentally prepared himself for what he was about to do.

 _Focus…_

The boy spread out his arms, and began to run, swaying in time with the grass. He kept low, and the howling of the wind masked the sounds of the grass parting. _Almost there…_

A shot startled him out of his concentration. A quick glance to his left revealed one of the guards, his rifle still raised, gesturing to his other companions as he pointed in the direction of the boy.

The boy cursed, abandoning all effort at stealth, and sprinted the last few metres. He dove into a roll that took him behind the wall of the house, which he quickly started scaling. He plunged his two climbing spikes one by one into the brittle wood, his panic lending him superhuman strength. It began to rain, the skies opening to torrents of water that fell from the heavens endlessly. The boy's already-drained muscles burned like they were ripping apart, forcing him to stop where he was. He looked down, the rough wood of the wall scraping against his cheek. He was about five or six metres off the ground, his legs dangling in the open air. The wind battered at him, screaming its frustration as he clutched desperately to the wall, the blades on the end of his cloak whipping dangerously near him.

The guards ran around the corner, stopping just below him, their rifles raised as they searched the long grass for the boy. When it was apparent he was not hiding there, one of them barked an order and they half-lowered their rifles. This guard, who he assumed was the leader, gestured to the others, and said something he couldn't quite catch over the howling of the gale.

 _I can't let them raise the alarm._

One of the guards, looking bored as the others, let his gaze wonder. His eyes roved up the side of the house, seeking something for his mind to linger on. He looked a little higher, his stare catching onto a dark shape, clinging onto the side of the wall. Then, his eyes opened in realization, and he opened his mouth to shout…

…as the boy's heels connected solidly with his head, a sickening _crack_ emanating from his neck as it snapped cleanly. Another four guards dropped dead, blood spurting from various wounds, as daggers sprouted from their skulls. The boy lashed out with his climbing spikes, driving them into the chests of the two adjacent guards, who toppled alongside their comrades. That left only the commander, who raised his rifle, his mouth a grim line as he took aim. The boy rolled, diving to one side as the rifle _cracked_ again, the bullet tearing a hole in his cloak as he flicked his wrist.

The knife spun through the night air, flashing in the light of the full moon. The commander didn't even have time to react before it planted itself between his eyes. He collapsed, his mouth agape as the light left his eyes, his gun thumping lightly to the earth alongside his outstretched hand.

The boy stood up, dusting himself off. He took a look around, surveying his work. The eight guards lay dead, all in various positions, their seeping blood rapidly being washed into the grass by the pouring rain.

 _All in less than a minute. Not bad._

The boy looked down at himself and grimaced. A combination of mud, blood, and rain soaked his clothes, staining them a horrible shade of rusty brown. There was a rip in his cloak, where the bullet had torn through the supple fabric. It didn't look good. He sighed, bending over to collect his weapons, which were still embedded in the bodies of the guards. Once all were collected, he held them out in front of him, letting the rain wash off the blood. Watching this process take place, the boy frowned.

 _Hang on… there's only seven here. Where is the… ah._

The boy crossed over to where one of the guards lay turned over, his face against the wet ground. Roughly, he pulled the dead man's shoulder so that he was facing the sky, his blank eyes filling with raindrops that washed away the blood and mud that spattered his face.

The boy reached for his dagger, pointing directly upwards like a red-stained obelisk. He tugged it out of the guard's face with considerable effort, grunting as it came free. He stood, and was just about to turn away, when he noticed a glinting at the man's belt. Crouching, he replaced his assorted daggers and knives at his own belt, and took a closer look.

The rewarding twinkle of gold came again, and then it was that the boy noticed the spilt coins that lay scattered on the ground, surrounding the dead man like an aura. The rain was pounding them into the ground, slowly adding layer after layer of mud, trying to smother their brilliance. Quickly, the boy began to snatch them up, before the earth consumed them. Once he had done this, he cast another look around, his sharp eye only now catching on the familiar brown leather of coin purses. A flicker of amusement crossed his mind as he began to collect them all.

 _And I call myself a pickpocket…_

Once this too was completed, and his own purse was significantly heavier, the boy straightened, stretching his back so that it popped satisfyingly. He then rolled his shoulders in their sockets, loosening them for the climb ahead. Then, he took out his climbing spikes again with a flourish, drew in a deep breath, and began to climb the side of the house once more.

The boy's arms were throbbing by the time he had reached the window. He heaved himself through the already half open gap, slithering to the floor on his belly, then collapsed with a barely audible sigh. He lay there, his lungs aching as he forced himself to breathe quietly.

Once he had rested himself sufficiently, he rolled over onto his back. He sat up, using the windowsill to heave himself to his feet. Then he cast a glance through the room, the moon giving him dim vision.

It was an enormous room, at least compared with the claustrophobic sewers he had, until of late, called home. It would have been cluttered, if not for the piles and piles of various objects stacked meticulously on the many wardrobes. Glass sculptures sparkled as he looked at them, topping the volumes of dusty books that lay everywhere. To the right, an open doorway leading to a tiled room suggested a bathroom. In the centre of the chaos, two figures lay prone in a large and ornate bed, their soft breathing filling the room. The boy took this all in as he recalled his objective.

 _Infiltrate the mansion. Find the necklace. Kill only if necessary._

 _Infiltrate the mansion- check._

 _Next, find the necklace._

The boy silently turned, and began to rummage softly through the drawers, pulling each one open, shutting it as it did not yield the prize. Many contained books, magazines, old newspapers- far from the necklace he was searching for. It took him a little over twenty minutes to search all the drawers, opening each one, peering inside, and shutting them again without making a noise. Once, he almost screwed himself over when he pulled a magazine-filled drawer too far out. It began to topple, and the boy's heart leapt into his mouth as it scraped noisily against the one below it. He caught it, hardly daring to breathe as one of the figures in the bed stirred, shifting beneath the covers before stilling once more.

After he had sifted through all of the drawers, each containing nothing but junk, he slowly straightened, and scanned the room again. _I've looked everywhere… except for…_

The boy turned his gaze to the figures on the bed, sleeping peacefully. _They'll be sleeping forever._ His heart sank as he approached them, drawing a long, thin, and extremely sharp dagger. These weren't soldiers. They weren't his fellow thieves and backstabbers. They were civilians. _May as well just get it over with._

He reached the man first. His bearded face was peaceful as the boy drew back the covers, his breathing soft and rhythmic. The boy held his dagger over the man's bare chest, above his upper heart. The man never ever stirred as the dagger pierced his flesh, puncturing his aorta, killing him instantly. The boy slid the blade out, the tip dripping blood onto the rapidly darkening sheets. He leant over the man, being careful not to put his hand in any blood, and peered at his neck. It was bare. _Of course it is..._

He began to cross over to the other side of the bed, his footsteps silent as the witnessing moon. He froze, stock still as the bed creaked. The boy slowly turned his head towards the source.

"Honey? Are you awake?" whispered a woman softly as the covers shifted. A dark silhouette sat up in bed, leaning towards the man. "Honey?"

The boy cursed internally, throwing his dagger in a rush. He felt the mistake in his throw as soon as it had left his hand, wincing as he realized it. The woman jerked back with a scream as it thudded into the bed, an inch from her nose. She scrambled out of the bed, her unclothed body pale as the moonlight fell on her and she backed away, trying to cover herself with her hands.

A necklace shone around her neck.

The boy drew another dagger as he approached her, the edge gleaming equally as sharp as the previous. The woman felt a wall at her back, and glanced panickily towards the door, on the other side of the room, the boy standing between them menacingly.

"Please- you can't- you don't understand! I can't die yet-" she whimpered, her eyes wet with unshed tears. "I'm not ready!" The boy felt his jaw clench at these words, the injustice of the irony evident in his mind.

"Nobody is."

The woman's eyes widened momentarily, as she tried to dodge away from the corner. The boy leapt forwards, anger sending his blade slicing through the air with a distant _whoosh._ It tore through her throat, sending her tumbling to the floor. She lay in a heap at the bottom of the wall, her blood spattered across the floor as more spurted from her throat to join it, giving her the illusion of crimson red garments.

 _Kill only if necessary_

 ** _only if necessary._**

The boy slowly became aware of the metallic, yet familiar smell of blood, hanging thickly in the air. He stooped, ripping the blood-covered necklace from the dead woman's neck, placing it into an empty pouch that hung securely from his belt. Then, he turned away from the two bodies, and walked gradually towards the bathroom, stepping inside. Twisting the handle of the tap, he began to cleanse his hands of the blood. As he did this, he thought about his parents- something he had not opted to do for years. He couldn't recall much about them- all that remained were the blurry memories of a young child- but he remembered the fateful day he had been cast out. His father had been away again, on some vague business trip, and finally his cruel mother had decided to take action.

" _But why, mother? Why must I leave? I'm not ready."_

He remembered the disgust, thick in her voice, as he stood on the doorstep of the house.

" _Stupid, stupid boy. Nobody is ready. Now get out! Go!"_

He had run then, confused and alone, the tears streaming from his cheeks. The boy now splashed water onto his face, looking up to meet his own gaze in the mirror. He sighed, casting the unwanted memories out of his mind, then wiped his face on a nearby towel. Then, after one last look in the mirror, he left the bathroom.

Then he froze again with a sharp intake of breath.

The girl on the other side of the room quickly spotted him, lifting the crossbow in her hands to point squarely at him. His mind was blank. _I wasn't warned of any others,_ he thought dimly as he stepped back slightly, his hair moving away from his eyes. The girl said nothing, but then her grip tightened, and she lowered the crossbow to point unwaveringly at his heart.

 _Oh shit. Think fast, think fast…_

The boy's tongue darted over his dry lips. The only sound was the howling gale and pounding rain outside.

 _Kill only if_ _ **necessary**_ _…_ Almost immediately, the rest of his body screamed back at him, **_NO! I CAN'T KILL HER!_**

The boy's gaze flickered to the open window, then back to the crossbow, the beginnings of a desperate plan forming at the edges of his mind.

 _Just a little more time…_

The slight, almost inaudible creak of the crossbow trigger caught his attention.

 _No time._

The boy surged, flinging a dagger towards the girl, even as she fired. The two projectiles skimmed past each other, each barely missing their mark. The girl lurched backwards in surprise, the dagger going wide by almost thirty centimetres, thudding into the doorframe. The boy dashed the last metre towards the window, then flung himself out the gap, back into the unrefined roar of the storm.

He grabbed the edges of his billowing cloak, holding it over his head like a parachute, hoping his insane plan would somehow miraculously work.

 _Pleasepleaseplease…_

The wind shrieked, causing his cloak to fill with air suddenly, almost ripping out of his hands as his decent slowed drastically. The fabric dug into his neck, forcing him to hold his breath. He rolled as he hit the ground with an impact, ignoring the seeping mud. A quick glance back revealed the girl, once again pointing the crossbow at him. She shot, but the bolt went wide, the wind snatching it out of the air and dashing it against the ground. The boy rose to his feet, staggering as the wind struck him, and began to run, away from the house, as fast as his exhausted body would take him.

All the while, as he ran, he wondered why.

Why, for the first time, he had not been able to kill.

The girl's face flickered in his mind.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 1: The Beginning**

* * *

 **A/N: Read the chapter. Leave reviews. Repeat.  
**

 **enjoy.**

* * *

 _Vayne_

* * *

I strode down the dark and narrow alleyway, my crossbow slung casually over my shoulder, as the filthy man in front of me desperately scrambled backwards on his hands. It was a typical night for me, out once again in the slums of Demacia, on my endless search. Search for what? Answers, mainly. Tonight, my mark was particularly talkative. But not in the way I had hoped.

"Please!" the man named Scratch was whimpering, his wild eyes squinting at me in the near-pitch blackness. "I gots a family to take care 'uv! They need me!" I stopped, tilting my head to one side, and I tapped my chin with one finger. "Alright. I believe you." Scratch stopped motionless as well, his annoying reedy voice dying down. _Thank God._ Through my night vision, I could see the beginnings of hope forming on his face. "S-so you'll lemme go?" Idiot.

"Tell me something first," I started, as I paused, leaning closer for dramatic effect, "If you loved your family so much, then why did you abandon them?" He stiffened as I straightened up, pointing my crossbow at him.  
"How do you know about that?" he asked, unease evident in his voice. _Huh. He didn't even try to deny it._ I tucked my crossbow under one arm, taking out my trusty notepad and flipping to the marked page. Adjusting my glasses, I cleared my throat and began to read.

"Steven 'Scratch' Paisley, aged twenty-nine, born in the north-eastern slums of Demacia," I read aloud, enjoying the expression of shock on his face. I continued. "-born to Liam Paisley and Sarah Martins. One sibling, aged twenty-six, named Simon Paisley. Childhood was uneventful, left home at sixteen to take up pickpocketing and thievery. Was pretty bad at that, so resorted to robbing at knifepoint. Surprisingly, that wasn't too hard, so he kept at it, earning himself a living." I snuck a look at Scratch. I grinned privately to myself as I noticed his right hand drifting towards a broken brick on the ground. Just like an extremely ugly fish, he was taking the bait.

"Eventually, he found a girl and settled down in the stereotypical criminal hideout- an abandoned, run-down warehouse. Continued to rob people. Had a kid. For whatever reason, decided he didn't want to live with a family dragging him down anymore, so he solved his problem the way he always did. He ran away." Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him slowly shifting, getting ready to spring. "Additional notes: is extremely stupid and gullible."

Scratch bellowed, launching himself at me. Unfortunately, I was expecting it. Scratch flailed courageously as I stepped aside, his annoying voice screeching as I shoved him hard into the wall with one hand. The other hand nimbly slid out the crossbow, aimed and fired. The bolt pierced his skull, adding momentum to the push, and Scratch broke his head open as it collided with the dull cobbles. Blood slowly seeped onto the ground, staining it a shimmering red. A quick death. _More than he deserved._

As I watched Scratch's lifeblood draining out of him, I was once again reminded, as always, of why I was here. I felt the ever-present anger, at Scratch, at myself, at the boy from ten years ago. It was irrational, I know, but… at the same time, it didn't _feel_ irrational. I had the right to be angry. All the world had given me was suffering. It was so damn unfair.

Everything flickered, and I suddenly I was back in my old home.

I was standing in the middle of my parents' bedroom. My father was lying in bed, dead, the sheets glistening red in the moonlight. My mother, naked, was lying twisted on the floor, crumpled in a heap. All this I took in stride. I was quite used to it, you see. Ever since my parents died, every kill I committed afterwards, this happened. I would revisit the scene (as if it wasn't traumatic enough) and just… wander for a little. Everything was frozen; the blood, the boy fleeing the scene in the raindrops outside, I could just pass through it all as if I wasn't there. Which I suppose was true. And yes, I had previously tried to have a peek beneath that purple hood, and it wasn't anything useful. Only two deep brown eyes, staring blankly out of an empty darkness. Creepy. And weird.

I had almost memorized the whole thing. All this I had been expecting.

Only this time it was different.

As soon as the visions took me, I felt something… there. Calling me. In a slight daze, I stumbled over to my father. He still lay where he always had, his blank eyes gazing endlessly at the roof. And then he spoke.

" _Shauna."_

My heart jumped into my mouth. His mouth hadn't actually moved, but it was definitely him speaking, although his voice was a little… echoey. I checked again- yep, still a gaping hole in his chest. _How…?_

 _"It's been so long."  
_ "D-Daddy?" My voice was small, vulnerable. I swallowed, then tried again. "Dad?"  
" _Ten years, Shauna. Ten long years we have waited. Seen you return here each week. Watched you leave again."  
_ "I-I don't understand. How…?"  
 _"It does not matter right now. There is not much time. Something is coming. Some_ one."  
"Who?"  
 _"I do not know, unfortunately. Go to your mother. She will tell you what you need to do."  
_ "O-okay."  
 _"I love you, Shauna. Do not doubt your courage."  
_ "I love you, too."

I slowly walked over my mother, still naked. Oh boy.

I heard a sigh.

 _"Shauna?"  
_ "I'm here, Mother."  
 _"Please excuse my current- uh- state, and listen to what I have to say."  
_ "… I'm listening."  
" _You must travel to Zaun. There are two men there, Fleg and Boggin. Seek them out."  
_ "They sound… dodgy. Why would they help me?"  
" _Show them the necklace I gave you, and- do you still wear it?"  
_ I felt the delicate chain, hanging around my neck. I remembered the day my mother had given it to me. I hadn't taken it off since. "Yes. I still have it."  
" _Good. Show them that, and they should help you."  
_ "How- how do you know all this?"  
 _"I- it's complicated. I cannot explain now."  
_ "But why? Why couldn't you have told me before? Why now?"  
" _Did your father not explain? It has been ten years, Shauna. Ten long years, we have waited here, supressed, unable to reach out. We saw you return, each time a little older than the last. But now, the one holding us here is on the move. His focus is elsewhere, and his grip has weakened. We have been waiting here for about- I don't know, two days? It is hard to tell here."  
_ "Okay. I'll go."  
" _You must, Shauna. The entire world hangs in the balance. Find the boy."  
_ "The- you mean your killer?"  
" _Yes. Him."  
_ "I've tried, mother. All these years. I haven't found a trace of him."  
" _It is different now. You will find him soon. Very soon."  
_ "I will?"  
" _Yes- it's hard to explain. But your journey ahead- it will be hard. Many lives will be taken."_ I felt dread growing in me. " _Do not give up, ever. We will wait for you."  
_ "I won't fail." I heard a distant laugh.  
" _Your_ _self-confidence is inspiring. I have high hopes for your success."_ I felt a smile on my face, despite the grim circumstances. _  
_"Thanks, mother. Is there anything else?" _  
"I cannot say anything else. Zilean would not be happy if I went around telling the future to everyone."  
_ "Zilean?"  
 _"Never mind. You must go now. Shauna- remember what I told you."  
_ "Of course."  
 _"And remember something else. Your father and I- we are proud of you."  
_ My voice cracked a little. "I- I know."  
" _Love you, sweetheart."  
_ "I love you too, Mum. Bye."  
" _Goodbye Shauna."_ The world began to grow dark as her voice slowly faded.

I came back to myself. I was standing exactly where I had been previously, in the exact same position. No time had passed. The first thing I did was blink. "Well, that was really weird." Then, the reality of the encounter hit me. I tilted my head back, threw my arms out, and yelled, "HOLY SHIT! FINALLY!" I began to laugh. "I HAVE A LEAD!"

I sobered up when I realized I was probably attracting the attention of several different gangs at once. If you haven't been in a gang fight before, pray you never are. It's violent, bloody, and there are absolutely no rules. Other than, you know, don't beat up your own gang. So naturally, with this precious new info swimming around in my brain, I began to stealthily make my way back to my hideout, in Liadel.

First thing about my hideout: it's nothing like the hideouts you see in spy movies. It was completely hewn from rock, down to the last corner. The reason for this was that it was underground. (Cliché? Yep. Totally awesome? Definitely.) I had deduced that it was probably an abandoned shelter; back in the Rune Wars, this was standard for every household.

It was about five metres along each wall, roughly, and the roof was only three metres above the floor. One entirety of one wall was taken up by a large corkboard, various photographs and news clippings pinned to it. These were meticulously connected by red strings, evidence of my search over the years. Below that, a scratched and dusty brown bench stood. (Don't ask how I managed to get it down there. It was extremely painful, I can tell you that.) The whole surface was covered by papers and notes, spread across it messily. Above the bench hung a rickety lamp, dangling from the roof by a short chain. It was always stuffy, as the only source of oxygen came from a small vent hole the size of a brick, hidden away in the corner. But to me, it was home. More or less.

I crawled slowly through the tunnels, thinking about what I had been told. It was common for these shelters to have a maze of tunnels; it was meant to confuse anyone that was trying to kill the residents. As far as I know, it was effective- apart from the fact that the residents often got lost as well. It had been more than once that I had come face-to-face with a small, sad-looking skeleton.

Anyway, morbidities aside, I reached the entrance to my hideout. Squatting, I lifted a stone slab that was perfectly blended with the floor, revealing a steel trapdoor. I reached down, and began to type my ten-digit-passcode into the number keypad. It emitted a small _beep_ , the red light on the side of it turning green. The trapdoor hissed open. If that passcode had been wrong, the person typing would be electrocuted immediately. Necessary precautions, when your hideout contains files on nearly every distinctly important person in Runeterra.

I stepped down the ladder, pulling the slab over the hatch as I went. When I reached the bottom, I jumped up and slapped a hand onto the trapdoor, which then hissed shut. I brushed myself off, then crossed over to the bench. I switched on the lamp, turning off my night vision. I then took out my notepad (still on Scratch's page), a pen, and turned to a fresh page. Then, I began to write.

 _travel to Zaun_  
 _meet fleg/boggin (caution)_  
 _show necklace/convince them to help_

 _find killer_  
 _avenge_  
 _find a way to free my parents from (?)_

 _zilean?_

I stopped there. My tired brain couldn't think of any more to write. So, I folded the notepad up, tucking it away into the side of my bodysuit, along with the pen. I removed my crossbow, placing it next to my bedroll, then switched off the lamp. I took off my cloak, tossing it onto the bench. I then lay down on my bedroll, taking off my glasses and placing them beside my crossbow. Within seconds, my eyelids closed, blocking out the shifting shadows.

* * *

I opened my eyes. I saw… nothing. It was dark, but not because it was night. There was just… nothing, no light. Like the void of space between the stars, but without any of the celestial bodies _._ There was no ground, but somehow I was standing. Or maybe I wasn't. I couldn't tell.

 _Shauna Vayne._

I reached for my crossbow, only to find it wasn't there. "Who's there?" I called. My voice sounded braver than I felt, but it was still nothing compared to the emptiness surrounding me.

 _It is I. Do you remember me?_ The voice seemed to be coming from every direction, every surrounding atom emitting the sounds.

"I don't know who the hell you are."

 _Good. It is not for you to know. Yet._

"Where am I?"

 _You are nowhere. You are in Runeterra, yet you are also in another dimension. You are many places at the moment._

"I- what did you do to me?"

 _I simply moved your consciousness to mine._

"Well how- _why am I here_?"

 _I wanted to give you a warning._

"Warning? Of what?"

 _Why, of me obviously. However powerful you may think you are, you are nothing before me. Kings have tried to topple me; great warriors and armies have fallen before my wrath. Stay out of my way, Shauna Vayne._

"Is that all?"

Nobody answered. There was only the emptiness, the sound of my ears ringing in the silence. Then, something began to change. I felt the void around me begin to rise in pressure. It was like I was being pulled apart, but pushed together at the same time. Like I was being deconstructed into the very atoms that gave me form, reconstructed, then it repeated.

 ** _do not try to stop me_**

Suddenly, I heard- or rather felt- a _whoosh,_ like something was rushing towards me. A huge gust of… something struck me, howling as the force of it lifted me up. Then, among the ear-splitting shrieks of the gust, the pain began. It started out milder, like someone was twisting daggers into my eye sockets, then rocketed as I began to scream. It peaked just as it began to feel like my entire brain was turning itself inside out. I felt it in every fibre of my being, as if all of my cells had been ripped violently apart from themselves. The gust stopped suddenly, the howls falling deathly silent, being replaced by laughing. The voice, laughing endlessly as I screamed. I pitched forwards, and suddenly there was no ground, and I kept falling, my screams mixing with the voice's reverberating laughter.

I woke up and immediately realized I had a splitting headache. I squeezed my eyes shut, the pain throbbing behind my eyes. I went to massage my temples, then realized I was pointing my crossbow at my face, my thumb curled around the trigger. Gingerly, I put it down. _How did that get there?_ I thought through the pain. But I had a pretty good idea.

I hadn't even begun my journey, and already people were out to get me. Fun.

I sat up, wincing as my head pounded with the movement. I slipped my glasses on, turning on the night vision in order to see in the pitch darkness. I stood, stretching, and walked over to the bench, snatching up my cloak from where it lay and slipping it on. I glanced one last time at my messy files, spread carelessly across the bench, looking nothing like one would picture ten years of relentless hunting. After a moment's hesitation, I snatched them up, folding them into a neat square, before tucking them into my bodysuit. I don't know why. Just one of my gut feelings, or whatever you want to call it.

I walked over to the ladder, the rungs well-worn from use. I took a deep breath, then began to climb.

* * *

 _Liadel._ It was a small, sleepy town, far away from any sort of highway or city. Not much happened here- it was why I had chosen to settle here.

The residents all know one another in Liadel. (Apart from me, of course. The less they know, the better). In the mornings, the air is filled with cheery calls of "Good morning!" as they greet their neighbours. To the (rare) newcomer, it seems like the typical country town- albeit on a smaller scale. But if you stay long enough, if you dig a little deeper, you can peek behind the façade. You'll see that behind all the smiles, the greetings, everyone is weary. That Liadel is a dying town. _The ghost of a town._

The morning air bit at my exposed skin as I sipped at my coffee. My cape was dangling over the back of my chair, fluttering gently in the breeze as I gazed across the street at nothing. My mind was ticking over the events of my dream as I sat outside the café. _Could that have been him? The one my parents were talking about? Because if he is…_ I shook my head. _This is going to be tricky._

I tilted my head back, draining the rest, then set the cup back on the glass table. Around me, a low buzz of chatter filled the crisp air.

"Would you like anything else?" I looked up to see the waiter, his pen hovering above his notepad. I shook my head.

"No, thanks." I stood, having already paid for the meagre breakfast, and left. I could have bought something more fulfilling, but I just prefer a cup of coffee to start my day. I find it more convenient. Anyways, I was strolling along Livet Street, making my way towards the market. There weren't many people wandering the streets; after all, the sun had risen scarcely an hour ago.

I reached the market, and headed straight towards a familiar store front. The sign hanging above the door read: THE ROAMER'S REST- EVERYTHING FOR THE TRAVELER! The store front itself was old and decrepit, the wooden boards rotting and the bars over the broken windows rusted. However, I knew that despite its appearance, it was still the best place around for a five-mile radius, at the very least.

I pushed open the door, the hinges squeaking loudly as I entered. The smell of age hit me, a musty, old-person smell, and there was a film of dust covering every surface. It was a small shop, the shelves (stacked with goods) close together. Straight ahead was the counter, where an elderly yordle sat, his bushy grey beard obscuring his face. I walked over, being extra-careful not to knock anything over. I knew just how much the old geezer loved his shop.

He looked up as I reached him, grinning toothlessly at me as he placed down the trinket he had been tinkering with. "Vayne! I was wandering when you'd visit again. You had me worried!"

I cracked a smile. "Grant, I visited you two days ago." He smiled, tapping the side of his head.  
"I don't seem to recall." The smile faded. "Vayne… does this mean… am I getting old?"  
I blinked, caught off-guard by the question. "What do you mean? You're already, like, a hundred years old, aren't you?"

He sighed. "I know, but I'm beginning to feel it now. My bones ache, my joints are stiff, and my brain feels foggy sometimes. I have trouble keeping my store in the pristine condition it usually is. Nobody visits anymore. Nobody to liven up the dull shelves. No children to wander the aisles, to be inspired." His gaze wandered aimlessly across the ceiling as he leant back in his chair. "Maybe it's time for me to retire."

I lifted an eyebrow in amusement and attempted to make him feel better with a sarcastic remark. "A hundred years old and you want to retire? You don't say…" He chuckled.  
"Of course I say, it's true isn't it?" he retorted. "My body isn't what it used to be."  
"Your tongue, on the other hand, is sharp as ever." He beamed, the smile returning.  
"Why, thank you." He rubbed his hands together in mock eagerness, his previous despair all but forgotten. "Now, what can I get you?"

I thought for a moment before replying. "Uh… I'm planning to go to Zaun. Could you recommend anything for me…?" His eyes lit up almost immediately.  
"Could I?" he exclaimed. "Why, you know that I know that you know the answer to that! Come this way!" He clambered over the counter with surprising agility, hobbled over a few aisles, then disappeared down one. I followed.

"Here is the finest collection of spoons you could ever hope for!" he exclaimed once I had joined him, gesturing to them with gusto. "Every spoon in the land is-"  
"Uh, Grant?" He trailed off, sounding slightly annoyed at the interruption.  
"What? What is it?"  
"I didn't ask for a spoon." His brow furrowed.  
"Didn't you? I distinctly remember someone asking about spoons."  
"Zaun, Grant. Zaun."  
"Ah- yes, yes, just this way," he said, turning again. "My memory is quite faulty all of a sudden." He said it lightly, but I could tell it meant more to him than he let on.

We stopped a few aisles along, where assortments of gear hung on delicate little silver hooks. There was armour, weapons, trinkets, and all kinds of other useful things. There was no dust present on any of these items; although Grant took great pride in his shop, the 'travelling section' was by far his favourite. I looked around at the splendour, taking it in appreciatively. "Here we are!" he said jauntily. "This is more like it, yes?"  
"It sure is."  
"So, how long were you planning to be in Zaun?"  
I sucked in a breath through my teeth. "I'm not really sure. Hopefully, I'll be out as soon as possible. But I may as well get extra stuff."  
Grant nodded approvingly. "Not a bad idea. I'm assuming, then, you just want the usual stuff? Food, waterskins, spare bolts…?"  
I nodded in return. "Yeah. Also, a travelling cloak." I collected all my requested items, Grant making extra little suggestions as he helped me carry a few things, and finally made my way to the counter. Grant vaulted over, back into his chair. I dumped the pile of items onto it, shaking the slight ache out of my arms. "Alright. How much do I owe you?"

Grant slid on a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles, then began to tally up the cost. After nearly a minute of careful counting, at the end of which I was beginning to get impatient, he cleared his throat and announced, "That'll be fourteen gold pieces and thirty-two silvers." I counted out fifteen gold pieces and dropped them on the counter without complaint. The cost was obviously high, but I knew that money was scarce for most honest folk. Not me.

Grant tucked the coins away under the counter. "Anything else?" I looked around, scanning the shelves.  
"No, I don't think I need…" My voice trailed off as a glint caught the corner of my eye. I turned towards the source, which was shining from a shadowed corner. Walking over slowly, I squinted at the mysterious shiny object. As I finally caught proper sight of it, I raised my eyebrows momentarily, mildly impressed. "Actually…"

I waved behind me at Grant as I exited the shop, my coin purse (noticeably lighter) tucked securely into my belt. My newly-purchased items were stowed away in a new leather backpack, along with the last-minute purchase I had decided to get. Just in case.

My new (or second-hand, at the least) cloak fluttered lightly in the fresh morning breeze, the hood pulled down to conceal my face from any casual onlookers. I breathed in deeply, savouring the crisp air.

 _I'm going to miss this._ The realization hit me, along with something else. The dingy streets, the buzzing cafés, Grant in his cramped shop. I was really going to remember this place well after I had left.

 _But wait… I'm not leaving forever… am I? I'm coming back. This… my hideout is here. Liadel. My home._ Deep down, I knew I was lying to myself. I had no home. I had lost my home the night my parents had died.

I had travelled away from Demacia, away from Liadel, plenty of times. I had been all over Valoran. I knew many places which I could seek shelter. But every time, I had returned here. Something had kept me here, and it wasn't just my hideout, or that fact that it was isolated. I had grown attached to Liadel, the residents that I had scarcely talked to, their determination to mask their weariness. It was the closest thing I had to a home, the most normal thing I had in my life among the chaos.

Now it was different. Something was calling me, imploring me, to seek it out. Something had changed the night before, in that vision. I felt… different. I felt as if I had been longing for this, all these years, but I had never realized. I felt less bound by my oath.

Closer to freedom.

 _I'm not lost anymore. I finally know what I've got to do._ I hefted my crossbow. _I'm going to Zaun. I'm going to find Fleg and Boggin. I'll make them help me. And from there…_ I raised my face to the cloudless sky, a chilly morning breeze tracing an icy finger across my face. _I'll go where the world takes me._

I looked ahead, then stopped walking. In front of me, the path split into several more. A signpost with peeling, once-white paint stood next to the path, a final testament to Liadel's existence. Without realizing it, my legs had carried me to the edge of the town.

"This is it." I spoke aloud, unintentionally. It was stated; there was no hesitation in my voice. I turned, drinking in the small town that had served as hideout and home for the past ten years. The familiar streets, lit by ancient lampposts, their light yellowed and flickering. The buildings, so beaten and weary with age, but still so lovingly tended to. The people, currently bustling around, that would never notice I had left. _Except Grant._

Taking one last look at the view with a feeling of finality, I turned back to my path. I began to walk, passing the sign that pointed in the direction I was heading. My mind remained fixed on the town I was leaving, clusters of buildings and people and one old friend in particular. _Goodbye everyone. Goodbye Grant._

 _Goodbye Liadel._


End file.
